


My Feet Can't Touch The Ground

by LoadedGunn



Series: Fairy Fic [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Fairy Louis, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rimming, Wing Kink, bottom!Louis, daddy!louis, self-lubricating fairy ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoadedGunn/pseuds/LoadedGunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Before Louis can ask, Harry trails his hands up his sides and then over the wings spread out under them. "Wanna play with your wings."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Louis arches a single eyebrow and flutters his wings, displacing Harry's fingers. "What does that mean?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry bites his lip—an infuriating move in and of itself—and then leans down to kiss Louis' neck and whisper, "I'd like to touch them for real."</i>
</p><p>Harry's developed a bit of a wing kink. Fairy Louis indulges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Feet Can't Touch The Ground

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's my birthday and it's become a bit of a tradition to post something on it, so there you go, people who wanted more wing kink in the fairy 'verse. featuring aggressively bottom louis and snuggles. this is set after chapter 3 and before the epilogue.

They do it again for Harry's birthday.

Except that, that makes it sound like it was planned, or like Louis was aware of the plan in advance. But no, this is one of those times Louis is an innocent bystander. As innocent as he can be with a cock down his throat.

Harry's legs kick out when he wakes up, gasping like his head was held underwater. Then he just rubs his eyes sleepily, which wasn't really the reaction Louis anticipated, so he sucks hard around his cock. "Oh holy fuck," Harry curses, voice rough from sleep.

That's more like it. Louis blinks at him good morning, and Harry just makes another destroyed noise and throws an arm over his face dramatically. Louis chuckles, which only rips another sound out of Harry. Louis' sure he has his attention now.

If until now it had been light licks and indulgent kisses, just to wake Harry up, he's ready to do some real work. It doesn't take Harry too long; it's pretty straight-forward from the moment Louis lets him fuck his mouth a little.

"Happy birthday to me," Harry sing-songs, opening his arms for the customary needy snuggle.

"It's your birthday?" Louis asks, crawling on top of his chest and nuzzling his favourite spot on Harry's neck. "I had no idea."

"I knew you never listen to me."

"After the fifth subtle reminder that you were born today I started tuning out," Louis admits. "The blowie was only 'cause you were hard and it seemed like the right thing to do."

Harry clears his throat. "You spent the night staring at my dick again?"

"Yup." Louis most certainly did not, he has better things to do than be a creep, but he's been fucking with Harry ever since he told him he doesn't really sleep and it's hilarious. Last week he convinced him that they're approaching the summer solstice so at nights he communicates with spirits. "And it was staring back."

"It wasn't channelling, Louis, it's like... something to do with REM sleep."

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry, never sure when to believe him when he drops a human anatomy bomb. At the end he just fondles Harry, and quickly wipes his hand on Harry's thigh because his dick is still a little wet with spit. Very subtly, Harry's back arches. He'll be up for more soon. Good. "We are friends, and it said hi."

"Fine. Kiss?"

Louis bites back a smile and kisses Harry's neck. He can sense Harry's frown without even seeing him. "Kiss, please."

Louis lifts his head. And kisses Harry's nose. Harry huffs and flips them over with embarrassing ease, hand on Louis' chest pinning him down. Still, he stays hovering over Louis' face, so close Louis' eyes cross looking at him, definitely close enough to kiss, but he doesn't. Instead he cups Louis' cheek and says against his lips, "Kiss?"

Louis grabs Harry's hair and pulls him down for a kiss, rushed but sweet. Harry moans a little, loves getting kissed almost as much as he loves getting spanked. Louis draws back when he runs out of breath, but one look at Harry's shiny lips and happy eyes has him whispering "kiss?" and Harry obliges.

When Louis starts tugging on Harry's hair a bit too hard, Harry collapses heavily on him, his thigh rubbing up on Louis' hard cock. Harry reacts before Louis even does, grunting and biting his lower lip. "Daddy," he whispers, grinding against him purposefully now.

"Yeah?" Louis asks, between one kiss and the next.

"Feel good."

Louis doesn't doubt it. He twists his hips so they're more comfortable and can definitely feel Harry growing hard again. "What does my birthday boy want?"

Harry giggles and catches his lips in another kiss. "Wanna play."

It's not a surprise. In the time Louis _didn't_ spend in a staring contest with Harry's dick, he tidied up their sex drawer by order of most to least likely to be used today. He loosens up his wrists unconsciously. "Wanna go to the drawer and pick what you wanna play with?"

Usually that doesn't work; Harry would give him a timid look and say "whatever Daddy picks"—which, thanks for the help—but right now he sounds orgasm-hazy rather than subby-hazy so Louis asks.

He's surprised anyway. "Not in the drawer," Harry clarifies. Before Louis can ask, Harry moves his hands from the blanket to his body, up his sides and then over the wings spread out under them. "Wanna play with _you_."

And that's how it happens again.

Louis arches a single eyebrow and flutters his wings, displacing Harry's fingers. "What does that mean?"

"I'd like to touch them for real, like we did when we came to this house the first time." Harry bites his lip—an infuriating move in and of itself—and then leans down to kiss Louis' neck and whisper _huskily_ , "It felt so good to do that for you—to hear you let go like that. Remember how you came grinding on my thigh? Must have felt nice, yeah? To be touched like that for the first time?"

" _Fuck_." The memory of that night is a foggy mix of mermaids and spectacular orgasms. He knows that it felt way more than nice, and he knows that he lost it and humped Harry's leg because he would've _died_ if he hadn't come, but he doesn't know if he's ready to do that again.

He sinks back into the pillow to give Harry a good look, an appraisal. He looks incredibly horny, but not far-gone. "Do you think you could do it and not start to... y'know?"

"Drift?" Harry finishes, a hint of a frown sneaking onto his face.

"Not that I don't love that! I just wouldn't want you to accidentally rip off a wing or something."

Harry obviously wouldn't be able to do that, but the statement has the desired effect: Harry's eyes widen and he gasps. " _Of course_ , I could never." He lifts his hand to Louis' cheek and does what can only be called a caress. "I'll be gentle, baby, I swear, and if it's too much I'll stop. You know safewords work both ways."

Louis wants to roll his eyes—he doesn't need caresses and sweet words, would prefer teasing and banter usually—but doesn't. There's an alarming lump growing in his throat. "Not that I'm complaining, but why do _I_ get something for _your_ birthday?"

Harry brushes Louis' fringe off his forehead slowly. "I'm being selfish, really. It just made me feel really connected to you, and special. And now that we're... playing, I think it would feel even more special to be good for you like that."

He knows what kind of _good_ Harry means. The lump intensifies. "That's the best gift you can think of? Being good for _me_?"

Harry nips his chin lightly. "No, obviously I was still going to ask for more blowjobs throughout the day, but that's what I want right now."

Suddenly, he knows he's ready to do that again.

"Fine. How do you want me?"

"What?" Harry blinks, like he didn't actually expect Louis to go along with it. "Really?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "When have I ever told you no?" Harry opens his mouth too quickly, probably to bring up the fact Louis denied him a kiss not ten minutes ago, so Louis adds, "On your _birthday_?"

Harry cuts his losses then and there. "Let's do it."

"Smart boy," Louis says, tapping Harry's nose. Harry makes a move to bite his finger. Louis growls. Harry rolls of off him.

"You wanna be on top again?" he asks, touching Louis' hair.

Louis hums. It was definitely nice to be in Harry's lap when they did it, sprawl over him and feel his mad heartbeat, come on him. But it might overwhelm Harry at this point, and Louis really would like this birthday not to include his dismemberment. "No," he says simply, and rolls over.

He gets in his favourite night-time position (sans Harry under him), stretched out on his stomach with his wings spread out and his arms folded under his head. "Like this."

"Oh," Harry says, the bit of gruffness that's been smoothed out by now back in his voice. Louis feels a hand on arse and thinks Harry must be magnetised. "Right."

"Promise to behave?" Louis asks one last time.

"Yes, Daddy."

It's a good answer. He bunches the sheets in his fists and closes his eyes, focuses on pulling back the magic protecting his wings from exposure. It's harder to do when he's sober, but his magic doesn't need a lot of persuasion with Harry's big hand still on his arse.

The first tingle hits him hard—a gentle gust of air touching his bare wings. He flinches instinctively, which Harry notices. "Is it—"

"Yeah," he cuts him off. "Give me a minute."

Harry backs off to give him some space, which Louis appreciates for now. He points his wings up tentatively, and then snaps them back down. A shiver works up his spine. It's not painful or uncomfortable, it's just—Louis doesn't know how to describe the feeling. It's just sensitive. He could get used to it. "You can touch, I think."

"Thank you," Harry says instantly. He throws a leg over Louis' hips and settles down on top of him, running soothing, familiar hands over Louis' lower back. Louis holds his breath, can practically feel Harry's excitement. And then he touches.

It's just a finger, just one touch on the very edge of his left hindwing, but it feels like lightning bolts travelling the whole length of his wings. Harry's gone in a flash, which must mean Louis' made an undignified noise, so he hopes he sounds reassuring when he says, "I'm good. Just go easy."

Harry hums, and there's his finger again. This time Louis was slightly more prepared, so he contains his own reaction. Meaning he only yelps and his hands shoot out to grab the headboard. Harry doesn't retreat this time, thankfully, but he does make a sound Louis' too preoccupied to identify.

Another finger on another wing, parallel strokes now. Louis grits his teeth, but it's hard to stay quiet when it feels like Harry's lighting a match in his chest. On his cock this would be the most inconvenient of teases, but on his _wings_ it's new and it's thrilling and it's hot and it's _sensitive_.

And suddenly it's not enough. Harry's fingers dance along the edges of his wings, and Louis keeps grunting, too keyed up. It's starting to feel more on the inconvenient side. He can take more now—he _wants_ more now. "Give me," he tries to say, but it comes out as a slur more than anything. Harry gets it, of course.

As soon as Louis feels more pressure, his arms spread, his shoulders pop, and Harry gets smacked in the face by a wing.

While the sensation of his soft curls on the wings is quite interesting, Harry stops touching him altogether and makes a sound again. It's a _laugh_. Louis will kill him. Today, on his birthday. He'll tweet his condolences. "You were less violent last time," Harry comments.

"I was high last time," Louis huffs. "Are you quite finished? Got enough?"

"Will you slap me again?"

Louis looks over his shoulder, ready to offer to slap Harry as much as he wants, but he's struck dumb. Harry just looks ridiculous—goofy, big smile on his face and a bigger hard-on hanging between his legs. He's wringing his hands like all he wants in his life is to touch Louis' wings again, and yeah, Louis wants him to. His eyes zero in behind Harry, on the branch creeping into the bedroom through the window. Huh. That'll be a twist.

He pushes a pillow down under his chest, to provide some relief for his shoulders, and then reaches back out to the headboard. Instead of closing his fingers around the metal bars, he laces them together and spells two vines to wrap around his wrists and around each other. Finally, he twists them through the headboard. There's enough give when he pulls his hands that it's not uncomfortable, but it's tight enough that Harry wouldn't get smacked. Not accidentally, at least.

Harry seems to be suffering enough without getting slapped, anyway. He sounds close to hyperventilation when he says, "Did you just tie yourself up?"

"Yeah," Louis says casually, resting his cheek on his bicep and breathing deep. "Don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Jesus Christ. _Lou_." His whole palm comes to rest on his wing, and Louis' arms shake but the vines hold. Just that makes it different—the fact he can't let the magic flow out of his fingertips, the fact the sensation is just trapped in him.

It's amazing when Harry sweeps his hands over the wings, putting pressure on some lucky scales and skipping others. It's like Louis can feel each of them, feel each muscle in his body urging them to flap and flutter and twist. He gets what Harry said earlier—he feels fundamentally connected to him.

Almost like he's got magic of his own at his fingertips, Harry spreads his fire over Louis' wings, gentle but persistent. Louis gets swept up in it without even noticing, moaning loudly when Harry turns his hands to brush his rough knuckles over the wings. It makes his spine sizzle.

"More," Louis demands—okay, whimpers—and Harry complies eagerly, shuffling until he's sat on Louis' arse and his hands find the edge of his top wings, and slip to the underside. " _Fuck_ , yeah, baby," he definitely whimpers, rubbing his face into his arm.

If he were less mindblown, this would have been a great opportunity to learn this stuff about himself. How the hindwings feel more sensitive than the forewings, how the underside of them feels so good his arse gets ridiculously wet, how when Harry's fingers find the subtle veins Louis screams.

Harry seems to be learning enough for both of them. He's a quick study, knows to use the pads of his fingers on the edges but his nails closer to the base, knows to change his patterns to keep him on edge, knows to dig into the forewings and barely brush over the underside. Harry knows how to work Louis up, no matter what they're doing.

Louis' known how good he is with his hands, but this takes even more skill than opening him up for a fuck, and it's like he's only getting better. A guttural noise rips out of him when Harry scratches the forewings—no, when he leans down to do it and presses Louis firmly into the mattress. He can feel Harry's cock on him now, feel how hard he is, slipping in the wetness trailing all the way down Louis' thighs.

More importantly, he can feel his own hardness dig into the bed, friction almost painful compared to how gently Harry's handling everything else. And it's fucking good. His wings flutter to get Harry closer again, and then he rolls his own hips, breath punched out of him from how _good_ it feels.

Harry must notice what Louis' trying to do, and he nearly loses it, rocking down on him and _pinching_ his wing, moaning, "Yeah, Daddy, sound so good."

It catches him by surprise, how close he is to coming. Just as quickly, he decides that he doesn't want to come yet. Since this is Harry's birthday present, it would be a shame not to indulge. He slaps Harry away determinedly, and of course every ounce of strength drains out of him when he feels his _hair_ again, a completely different texture on his wing. If he weren't this sensitive it would be considered a tickle, but now it's considered torture.

No, he can't melt into the mattress right now. Coming will only distract him at this point. He wriggles again, finally getting Harry to dismount. It's hard to do with his hands tied, but after some manoeuvring he manages to get on his knees. The truly reverent way in which Harry curses makes him quickly crumple, so—face down, arse up it is. " _Fuck_ , you're—oh, fuck."

Harry would probably have more to say, but then his tongue is on Louis' arsehole. Louis yells again, head spinning. He knows this one, has Harry on his arse at least twice a week, but all the wing stuff makes him feel broken down and vulnerable. Definitely not prepared for Harry's expert, clever, flexible, fantastic tongue eager to lap up Louis' dripping arse and fuck into him.

So Louis could've seen this coming, if it were any other day. He also could've held his own and got what he set out to get, if it were any other day. But today Harry's licking him out and fondling his wings at the same time, so today Louis just comes on his own stomach and tugs on his restraints so hard they hurt him.

Harry doesn't give him a rest, licking every drop Louis' giving him and _pinching_ the tips of his wings again. Louis wants to kick him, but he honestly can't move a muscle. Well, he figures Harry will have to come up for air at some point. And then he _talks_. "So wet, fuck," Harry tells his arse directly. "Taste just perfect, Daddy."

His muscles can't move, but apparently they can twitch violently. Harry bites one cheek, and then moves away to kneel behind him and play with the wings some more. Louis thought he was spent, but with one stroke he's ready to go again. He spreads his legs out of habit, and Harry presses up against him out of habit, but the rest is brand new. How his fingers feel, how Louis feels, how his wings are buzzing.

When he leans in this time it brings his dick right against Louis' arse, so hard he feels _hot_ on his skin. If Louis' hands were free he'd spread his cheeks and grind on him, tease him a little, but as it is he can just barely shake his hips and hope for the best.

Luckily, Harry is the best. He slides one hand down his wing and onto his back, and then his arse, squeezing roughly. "Can I?" he asks, which is polite but inane seeing as Louis' wet enough that as soon as his finger runs along his crack he could pretty much slide right in.

"Two, now," Louis barks, which is impolite but effective. Harry fucks in with two fingers, thick and absolutely perfect. The pressure doesn't build as much as it explodes, since Harry goes fast and hard from the start, like he's chasing that wet smacking sound he loves to hear so much.

Louis' whining into his arm again, non-stop, hips moving back into Harry's one hand and wings fluttering under the other. The rest of his body feels like liquid, writhing in the sheets. He barely hears it when Harry says, "So beautiful, I can't believe—"

A part of him, deep down, would like to reiterate that he doesn't need caresses and sweet words, would prefer teasing and banter usually. So he tries to get himself in his zone, starts with, "My good boy, taking care of me so well right now, making daddy so proud kitten," but it comes out in breathy, embarrassing whimpers.

Harry doesn't seem to mind, practically collapses in his eagerness. Louis' helpless not to come again when Harry plays with his prostate and actually kisses his wing. It's not the kiss itself, or how sticky Harry's lips and chin are, or even his fingers. It's his bloody _hair_. Louis doesn't come as hard as before, so he still has enough presence of mind to praise his boy. Except that all that comes out of his mouth is a variation of _fuck me_.

Harry draws his fingers out and keeps touching Louis' wing, even when he sucks on his dirty fingers particularly noisily. Louis shoves his hips back so hard Harry actually gets pushed away. Just like that, Louis' hip is grabbed hard, and Harry's cock starts rubbing up and down his crack. "Fuck me," he adds, in case his intentions weren't clear.

"Yeah," Harry agrees, flustered. Louis can breathe marginally easier when Harry's thick cockhead nudges inside him. He slides in all the way in a smooth move, when usually he'd pump in and out of him a few times. Louis couldn't care less. Harry feels as perfect as always, long cock _belonging_ in his arse.

He pulls nearly all the way out, so Louis uses what might be his last normal breath to remind Harry to be careful. Because when they're like this Harry more often than not drapes himself over Louis' wings and back and just rocks in and out of him, kissing his ear and moaning beautifully. If that happened right now he could crush him.

Not getting snuggle-fucked has its other advantages, apparently. Like the way Harry grabs his hips in a bruising grip and pound him, hips snapping so fast there's that _sound_ , the wet one, when he slams into him. It overwhelms him in his favourite way, so full of Harry inside and out that he could scream. Maybe he is, _oh_ 's and _good boy_ 's. Harry's definitely earning it, fucking him like this.

Louis knows Harry's close, both from experience and from the fact his hold actually hurts a little. Louis' more than ready for it. Because Harry earned this, too, and because his wings are reaching a breaking point and he doesn't think he can take much more. "You can come, sweetheart, I know you want to. I want you to, wanna feel how much you need your daddy."

Something must do the trick, going by Harry's desperate _yeah yeah yeah shit yeah_ and erratic thrusts. Louis thinks he's golden, but then Harry does the absolute last thing he was expecting. He _pulls out of his arse_.

And then he uses his grip on Louis' hips to shove him down, flat on the bed.

And then he comes on his wings.

Louis barely has time to yelp in shock before he's coming too, spilling into the sheets and feeling like he might never breathe again. There's still enough magic in his wings that they don't melt or anything, so it just feels—fuck, it feels heavy and wet and electrifying and _Harry_.

He can't believe Harry just did that. "I can't believe you just did that," he mumbles into his arm.

Harry sounds just as shocked—or awed—when he says, "Fuck, I didn't mean—okay, I meant to, but I didn't think about it before I just—oh my god, I'm—is it okay? Did they melt?"

Louis laughs, still shaky from three excellent orgasms, an awkward Harry and a load of come on his _wings_. "It's perfect, baby. As long as you liked it."

"Are you kidding?" Harry lets out a disbelieving laugh. Or a hysterical giggle. "Lou, that was—way more than I could've asked. That was incredible."

Louis' cheeks ache from the force of his smile, wings fluttering at the compliment. Harry makes a hilarious noise when some come splatters on him. An idea ignites. " _No_ ," Harry says before Louis even moves.

"No what?" he grumps.

"Don't you dare shake your wings clean like a dog," he clarifies.

Damn it. "But it'll be funny."

Harry flicks the back of his knee. "Please don't, okay? I will not be cleaning glitter _and_ come off the ceiling on my birthday. Plus, I thought I could maybe clean you up myself?"

Louis doesn't know if it's a genuine urge or just a way to keep Louis from doing what he must. Either way, the decision is made for him as soon as he feels Harry's tongue on the base of his right wing. He couldn't flap them even if he wanted to, boneless and content as Harry works on cleaning up his own mess.

It's over when he peeks over his shoulder. Harry looks so primal, dedicated to cleaning his mate, gorgeous muscles bunched up so that nothing but his soft mouth could touch the over-over-sensitive wings. He honestly didn't think he had any more in him, but between one lick and the next Louis finds himself coming for the fourth and final time, gently rocking into the mattress and murmuring praise. And when Harry's done with the wings, he goes right for the arse again.

This time, Louis does kick him away. Harry just sighs like the happiest man alive and crawls away from him entirely. His head pops up in front of Louis' face, and Louis' heart skips a beat, feeling like he hasn't seen him in years. His lips look obscene. "Baby," he says automatically.

Harry beams and ghosts gentle fingers over Louis' cheeks. "Wanna take off the cuffs? I feel a birthday snuggle coming up."

Louis hums and spells the vines away. As he suspected, there are marks around his wrists, but they'll fade a lot faster than they do on Harry. "Might take me a while to heal," Louis warns.

Somehow, Harry's smile intensifies. "No place I'd rather be," he sings, and then helps Louis balance on his side so Harry could slip in under him.

They're in his favourite night-time position now, Louis draped over Harry's magnificent chest for the foreseeable future. "I love you," he comments.

Harry nods gravely. "I figured that out."

Louis hides his grin in Harry's neck. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Harry says, also smiling, going by his voice. He buries his fingers in Louis' hair, scratching his scalp pleasantly. "I love you too."

"Thanks," he repeats. He thinks that'll be that, thinks Harry might even go for a nap while they wait for Louis' magic to fix itself.

So of course Harry says, "Will you still blow me while I bake myself a birthday cake?"

He snorts, stretching out on top of him. "When have I ever told you no?"

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! don't forget to comment, and i'm on [tumblr](http://loaded-gunn.tumblr.com/post/118251362596/before-louis-can-ask-harry-trails-his-hands-up) if you need me!


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